Colonel Fitzwilliam's Challenge

by Jennifer Joy

  The maid smiled sheepishly. “It is wash day, miss. That, and there being a chill in the air, Cook was making a soup for our supper.”

  Adélaïde imagined the mad scramble which must have gone on in the kitchen as everyone grabbed whatever liquid was available. “I shall not be too surprised when I see chopped carrots amongst the ruins, then. Thank you.”

  She smiled at Yvette, trying her best to lighten the mood and be grateful that more was not lost. Just her business. Luc would not be able to live in his home for a while, but even that could be repaired. Yvette’s hands would heal, given time and attention. The burns did not appear to be deep.

  “Did you remember seeing or hearing anything before the glass shattered? Did you observe anyone outside the window as you ran out?” asked Richard, his voice and face as serious as his questions.

  Yvette furrowed her brows in thought. “No, I do not recall. I was so intent on keeping the fire from spreading, I do not remember.”

  “Were you the only one downstairs at the time?” he persisted.

  “I was. Everyone else was at the new shop.” Yvette looked down at her lap, gulping. “The new shop which will not be able to open because we have no fabric with which to make dresses. Oh, miss, I am so sorry.”

  Adélaïde’s heart crushed within her, but she could not dwell on it. She would not lose her composure again. She had to be strong until she could grieve her loss in solitude.

  She felt Richard’s eyes on her, but she could not meet his gaze.

  Mary came running, dragging Mr. Thorpe behind her.

  He explained his presence straight away. “I had a patient in the area. When I heard what had happened here, I started in this direction until I saw this young lady.” He smiled at Mary.

  “I saw his doctor bag, and that was enough for me.”

  “How good you are here, Mr. Thorpe.” Richard moved so that the doctor could see better.

  When he saw Yvette’s hands, he opened his case and set to work, reassuring Yvette, after inspection, that the burns would heal nicely. Only one on the inside of her wrist might leave a scar, as it had burned deeper.

  A constable had arrived, and poked around in the ashes. The butler stood beside him, no doubt anxious to clear up the mess.

  Adélaïde spoke with the constable, but his questions only agitated her already perturbed mind. Did she have any enemies? Could this have anything to do with the break-in a while ago? She answered his questions as clearly as she could, and he left with promises that they would investigate as closely as they could to catch the criminal. Adélaïde did not share his confidence.

  Richard already had his coat off, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “We had best begin cleaning what we safely can.”

  With the spectacle over, the crowd in the street disappeared from whence they had come. The girls trickled up the backstairs, grabbing brooms and buckets for the debris. They cleaned the street, avoiding the front of the house, in silence as best as they could until the sun’s descent made it difficult to see.

  Adélaïde let numbness take her over, her limbs sweeping and scrubbing. She smiled occasionally to her girls and gave them words of encouragement, but inside she felt empty.

  Through it all, Richard stayed. He arranged for Maman’s coachman to drive the girls and servants to Bond Street. They could wash and sleep in the upstairs apartments.

  It being impossible to see without the assistance of multiple candles, the girls insisted that she go to Maman’s. Maman would be worried if she stayed out too late, and everyone was in need of a refreshing bath.

  Adélaïde’s smile faded as she left her shop behind. The relief of a good cry awaiting her, she found the strength to walk home with Mary, who insisted on accompanying her. She was physically exhausted, but she did not want to trap herself within a hired coach.

  Hearing boot steps behind her, she quickened her pace. She had to keep her senses about her until she arrived safely home to Maman.

  “Miss Mauvier, slow down!” said Richard as he caught up with her, his breath coming out in puffs.

  “You have done enough today. You should go home and rest, Colonel.”

  “I will see you safely home first. As brave a face as you put on, I do not for a moment believe that you are as unaffected by the events of today as you seem.”

  Adélaïde nodded, then continued walking without a word. They walked in silence all the way to Maman’s house.

  Richard delivered Adélaïde safely to Aunt Beatrice’s front step, but he found he could not leave her there. Though they had walked the distance in silence, it had not been awkward. He had wanted to hold her hand so badly, to impart some strength to her sagging shoulders. She had been brave all day for the benefit of others. He wanted to alleviate her worries.

  Adélaïde had cleaned her face before walking home, as had he, but Aunt Beatrice noticed the soot stains on their clothes immediately. Standing abruptly from her chair, her cane shaking under her weight, she said, “Good heavens! What has happened?”

  Adélaïde crossed the room to Aunt Beatrice’s open arms, melting into the elderly woman, allowing her to console her as Richard had desired to do. They stood so until Adélaïde stopped shaking. When she stepped back, Richard saw the tear stains on her damp cheeks.

  Aunt Beatrice motioned for Richard to sit. Then, she led Adélaïde to the settee and sat beside her. Looking between Richard and Adélaïde, Aunt Beatrice asked, “Now, tell me what has occurred.” Cupping Adélaïde’s chin in her hand, she added, “There is only one other time I have seen you like this.”

  Richard remembered what Adélaïde had said in the coach, as the smoke thickened. She had acted strangely, as if she were living out an event of the past.

  “You called me Luc, and you almost jumped out of the moving carriage to try to save someone.” He wanted to ask her why, but he could not manage a way to ask the question delicately.

  “I cannot expect you to know the details of how I arrived to England.” Adélaïde closed her eyes, and rocked back and forth. “The smell of the smoke, the way it stung my eyes, carried me back to France. I clung to Mother’s skirts, burying my nose in the silk so that I might smell the comforting scent of her rosewater. Father stood by the door, a sword in his hands. Mother pushed me away from her. I knew why she did it, but I could not bear the thought of them taking her from me.” Adélaïde’s voice cracked. Richard’s heart broke for her.

  Masculinity be hanged! He dabbed his eyes with his coat sleeve.

  “Luc pulled me away, holding my arms at my sides and carrying me down to our hidden cellar. When I heard Father shout and Mother scream, I cried so loudly, he had to cover my mouth. It was not enough for them to take our parents, they had to burn our house down as well. The smoke thickened, making us cough, but we had to stay in that damp hole in the ground until Sir Lewis rescued us.”

  Richard was shocked. “Sir Lewis? You cannot possibly mean my uncle, Sir Lewis de Bourgh. My aunt Catherine’s husband died at Brighton before Anne was born.” Looking to Aunt Beatrice for clarification, he saw Adélaïde spread her hands over her face.

  Patting her knee, Aunt Beatrice said, “There now. It is a difficult secret to keep. I trust that my nephew knows how to keep his mouth shut. Were it known that Lewis spied for the English, his life would be in grave danger.” She gave him such a stern look, he felt like he was in the presence of Aunt Catherine.

  Pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Richard understood. Adélaïde must have been sending letters to him! He was the elderly gentleman she wrote to in France. “Sir Francis is Sir Lewis. That was the secret in the letter Anne found. Her father was an English spy. Now, that is ironic.” He chuckled, but stopped himself short, looking anxiously at Adélaïde. Kicking himself for his telling reaction, he looked down at his lap, trying to convince himself that no blunder had been made on his part.

  “Ironic? I fail to see the irony,” said Adélaïde. Aunt Beatrice, too, looked confused.

  Should he t
ell her now? He had always meant to, but was now the moment? The day had been a challenge to her, and he did not want to add to her distress. However, only dishonesty could cover his fumble. Was she not deserving of his honesty? Should he do what was right? Or what was easy?

  Coming to a difficult decision which he still did not trust, he cleared his throat. “What I have to say, I had wished to tell you in different circumstances— better circumstances.” As if that would soften the blow.

  Torturing himself, Richard continued, “You deserve the truth, and I owe you an explanation. You see…” Where were the right words— the words which would take the sting out of it all? “You see, almost as soon as we arrived home from Rosings, I received an assignment.” Taking a deep breath, he determined to get the next part out before he needed to breathe again. “Certain evidence had presented itself against you, and I was assigned the task of verifying if it were true or not.” There. He had said it.

  Confusion gave way to another emotion Richard had not seen in Adélaïde for some time. Her cheeks turned as red as her lips, and her green eyes flashed in anger.

  “You thought I was a spy?”

  “No, I cannot say that I did. But, it is good to have such things confirmed, is it not?” His attempt at humor did not supply laughs— more like gasps of horror.

  Aunt Beatrice raised her hand to press on her temple, a sigh of displeasure escaping her lips.

  “If you did not think it, then who did?” Adélaïde pressed. Richard could practically see the questions forming in her mind, demanding answers. When her nostrils flared and she lifted her chin, he wished he could go back in time and keep his mouth shut. “Is that why I have so often been in your company of late? You were investigating me?”

  Richard was afraid to answer. It had been his initial motive, but it had long ago ceased being his sole purpose. He liked her company. He could imagine spending years learning new ways to make her smile.

  Extending his hands out, palms up, he implored, “Please, allow me to explain as much as I can—”

  “So it is true. You admit it.” Adélaïde stood up, her expression as cold as ice.

  Richard could plead with her, but she would not hear him. He had to let her go, though he wished her to stay. He wanted her to understand.

  “Excuse me, Maman, I am very tired and I wish to retire for the night.”

  Crossing the room without looking back, Richard hated himself for hurting her. He listened to her steps ascending the stairs, and a door shut with more force than necessary.

  Aunt Beatrice’s stare pierced him through— more effective than a sword.

  “Well, you did a pretty job of that, nephew.”

  Chapter 24

  “Me and my big mouth. I have hurt her, and she has every right to be angry with me.” He squeezed his hands together until it hurt. “Of all the days, she had to find out on this one— one of the worst days of her life. And after what she shared about her parents. Could I be a bigger brute?” He leaned back against his chair, hands running through his gritty hair.

  “So it is true, then. You were investigating her.” Aunt Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him and rubbed the top of her cane.

  Richard nodded, at a loss for the right words to justify his behavior.

  Tapping her cane a few times, Aunt Beatrice said, “Without trust, there can be no real love. You would have had to tell her anyway. Best get it done now. Granted, you could have done a better job of it, but what is done is done. So, what do you plan to do now?” She raised her eyebrows so high, they looked like twin question marks.

  Leaning forward, his hands clasped together at his knees, Richard said, “She will never have me now.”

  “Where is your fighting spirit, Colonel? Is she not worth fighting for?”

  Richard would rather endure a beating from Mr. Braggan than experience the mental torture he was putting himself through. He had always believed that statement to be true. He had sworn to himself that if he found a good woman, he would fight to win her affection— and keep it.

  Sitting up straight again, he slapped a hand against his thigh. “You are right. Miss Adélaïde is a good woman, and she is worth the struggle, if she will have me. I know that I do not deserve her, but I would not be able to live with myself if I did not try.”

  “Good. It will not be easy. You have effectively dug yourself into a rather large hole from which you must first extract yourself before you can advance your suit.”

  “I will do what I have to. I will be the man she needs me to be or die trying.”

  For the hundredth time, Richard wished he had his horse. Instead, he cursed the crowded streets that slowed his coach to his club. Aunt Beatrice had been kind enough to allow him to clean up before leaving. So urgent was his need to speak with Dovedale, he could not risk returning home before finding the Lieutenant General.

  He hopped out of the coach before it came to a complete stop, and hurried inside the thick walls of Brooks’.

  Richard asked the first waiter he saw where Dovedale might be found and followed the halls until he reached the room used for gambling. At least Dovedale was not in the library. Richard doubted he could have kept his voice down, something difficult for him to do on a normal day, and almost impossible given his level of excitement at that moment.

  Dovedale shook his head at the dealer, wrote a note, which he handed to the gentleman to his right with a grimace, and stood up to meet Richard. Not a good beginning. By all appearances, Dovedale had lost at cards. Moving to a private room, they walked together in silence until the door closed.

  “You had better have a good reason for seeking me out so openly.”

  Too exhausted to mince words, Richard said, “Please, sir, I must ask you to reconsider my transfer to Spain. I have valid reasons for staying.”

  “That is what you came here for? To beg me not to send you away?”

  “If I must beg, then I will if it means you will change your mind.”

  “Have you no concern for the welfare of our nation? Have you become so love-struck that you would put your own interests ahead of your country’s?”

  Taken aback at Dovedale’s observation, he said, “Before the events of today, I would have sacrificed my happiness, even pleaded with Miss Mauvier to sacrifice her happiness, for the time it took to return. However, today has changed that. I cannot leave her when she has lost everything in the fire which destroyed not only the home she shared with her brother, but her place of business. She is ruined. I believe I can do one woman more good than I can an entire country.”

  Lowering his defenses, Dovedale shook his head. “I am sorry for her loss. However, it is a harsh world we live in, and unfortunately, these things happen on a daily basis. I pity you, Fitzwilliam. You have fallen for the oldest trick known to man. You were not supposed to fall in love with Miss Mauvier. That you were able to love someone suspected of treason puts your loyalty to question.”

  “She is innocent.”

  “I realize that. That is not the predicament I find myself in now. How am I to trust your judgment in future assignments? You were fortunate this time, but you must learn to separate your heart from your work. The best spies in the world will use your emotional nature against you. You would put yourself at danger, as well as the ones closest to you.”

  Richard bit his tongue, his breath shaking as he tried to rein in his sentiments.

  “You know that what I say is true. Otherwise, you would object. No, Fitzwilliam, I am doing you a favor. Take the time away from here to analyze what you really want. Separate yourself from Miss Mauvier, and you will see how quickly you forget about her. I daresay she has forgotten you already.”

  “Nothing will change your mind?”

  “The request has already been sent. It is too late. You leave in three days.”

  Adélaïde’s face was so hot, she imagined the steam lifting from it as she splashed cold water over her face. How dare Richard!

  The maid had begun heating water
the moment she saw Adélaïde and Mary enter Maman’s house covered in black and ashes. Peeling off her grimy clothes, Adélaïde slipped into the steaming water, dunking herself completely. If only her problems would wash away just as easily as the soot washed from her body.

  “Where is Mary?” she asked the maid.

  “Cook has her in the kitchen.”

  The elderly servants at Maman’s had taken an instant liking to Mary. No doubt she too would soak in a soapy bath and fill her stomach with a hearty meal. It would be good for her. She was still too thin.

  As the maid scrubbed her hair, digging her strong fingers into Adélaïde’s thick locks, the rhythmic massaging relaxed Adélaïde enough that she determined to focus on the silver lining in her black cloud. She thought of her beautiful, new shop. She thought of her loyal friends. She tried not to, but she thought of Richard. The way the sweat trickled down his temple to his wide jaw where it soaked onto his white shirt… that was, until he became covered in soot just like everyone else.

  Adélaïde sighed, and the maid chose that moment to douse her head with fresh water, scrubbing to get the soap out. That was when Adélaïde remembered the dress and pelisse. She had finished it that morning before leaving for her new shop, and it would fetch a goodly sum. How grateful she was that it rested safely in her room at Maman’s. She would sell it, no longer able to give it as a gift to the ambassador’s stylish wife.

  She dressed for dinner, ready to face the scolding she was sure to receive from Maman.

  Arriving at the table, Adélaïde readied herself for it.

  “It has been a trying day for you, Adélaïde. I think a hearty meal and a good night’s rest will do wonders. Do not concern yourself with Mary. Cook is taking care of her. Tomorrow, we will think of a plan to set everything right.” She stabbed a cooked carrot on her plate and slid it into her mouth, chewing deliberately.

  “You are not upset with me for being so rude to the colonel?”